


Sloppy Seconds

by Wastelandic



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol, Drugs, M/M, Violence, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wastelandic/pseuds/Wastelandic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick Sanchez is an insane yet brilliant mind at West Coast Tech, the only thing getting in his way is his constant drinking and the fact that he’s getting kicked out after all this time. He finds his solace in a younger, more athletic and attractive Pines twin, drugs, sex, violence, more alcohol and a few robberies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welp I'm Stanchez trash and that's all there is to say about this

0.  
“Heh. We really outdid ourselves this time, R.” The husky voiced man leaned back from around the counter and hid back down. “There’s gotta be at least ten cops right there…god knows how many are waitin’ around the building.”  
He looked over at his partner who was hunched over fiddling with something, the bags of money between them. He could never imagine this, being cornered by the police after a nearly successful bank robbery? That’s shit you read about in the paper, it didn’t happen to people like him. Maybe to people like his partner and the other three, but not him…at least that’s what he had thought.  
The athletic man took a deep breath and looked around the area near them, there were a few windows but he knew they would be watched by the cops. Plus, even if they did make a run for it, they would be shot at for sure. He couldn’t guarantee their safety at all.  
So for the time being, he sat there, behind one of the bank teller counters with his lanky partner in crime working away at something he had hidden in his jacket. “God, R. I swear, if this shit you’re fiddin’ with doesn’t kill us, I’ll do that myself.”  
1.  
West Coast Tech located in upper California was one, if not the most elite science focused university in all of the United States. Only the best of the best were accepted after months of being quizzed and scrutinized over. Now most would say that these brainiacs did all they could during the week to keep their genius in tact. No one would ever expect these aspiring scientist to be doing anything but experiments or studying on the weekends. Granted that was true for most of them. Most of them.  
Unfortunately, Rick Sanchez was not one for ‘conforming to the norm’. No, not brilliant and insane twenty three year old grad student Rick Sanchez! He could be found on the weekends out drinking at a nearby bar, partying with neighbouring university frats and sororities, or playing with his band, The Flesh Curtains. Yes, Rick Sanchez was not a model student for incoming freshman or high school seniors visiting the campus as he was drunk a good 75-90% of the time, burping in their faces, laughing at them and being a general asshole to them. But given the amount of new technology he was already expert at, WCT could not afford to lose him.  
Or, you know, so he thought.  
“Waaassss urrrrrrp b-bitchessss!” An already intoxicated Rick pushed himself into the living room of an ongoing frat party. Cheers of his name echoed throughout the room as several other party goers moved into his space, one handing him a cup filled with whatever alcohol they had on standby and another offering a joint. This was the life, he would find himself thinking at these point. Attractive women and men pressing themselves upon him, making sure his cup was never empty. The smoke from the pot, the lights, the music causing his world to sway with every step. God he loved it. All of it. It made him forget about the stress of school, of the expectations left on his shoulders by his overbearing parents - fuck, if they could see him now!  
He would stay out till god awful hours and find himself stumbling back to WCT, up the stairs to the apartments on campus and linger outside the door of one Stanford Pines. The little prick was a year younger and almost as smart as him (almost). He was just like the rest of the assholes Rick found himself around and it irritated him.  
“H-hey!” He slammed his fist on the door. “S-s-sixer! Open your fuckin DOOR.” He covered his mouth as he burped and leaned against the wall next to the door. It felt like an hour but a few moments later, the door opened slightly showing the shorter six fingered man, his glasses on the edge of his nose and he did not look pleased. Rick smirked and waved. “M-mooooooornin urrp, Fordie.”  
“For heaven’s sake, Sanchez. It’s 4:30 in the morning and we have class in–” Ford was cut off by Rick burping loudly and shoving his way in.  
“Yeah yeah.” Rick messed with Ford’s bed head and moved towards the couch in the living area. “You have class at a-asscrack o’clock in the g-g-gooooooddamn mornin’. Tha’s not my urrrp my problem~.”  
Ford huffed, locking the door behind him and shuffling to where the drunken man was shifting through the cabinets. It was becoming pretty normal for his “rival” (that’s what Rick had dubbed them one drunken night, somewhat similar to tonight) to show up inebriated and then pass out somewhere in his apartment. He cleaned off the coffee table and couch that was littered with research papers and filed them neatly into one of his many research boxes then through a spare blanket onto the couch.  
“At least make it to the couch this time…” Ford grumbled. “I don’t need to wake up to you asleep in my tub again.”  
That sparked laughter from Rick who, with a box of crackers in his hand, walked over and put his arm around Ford causing him to stiffen up. “I betcha you’re one h-helluva drunk.” He burped loudly and stuffed some crackers into his mouth.  
“Ugh…you reek of marijuana…” Ford side eyed Rick’s armpit hair and noted how he would need to disinfect his shirt later. He pushed the taller man away and started to head to his room.  
“Awwwwwww, P-poindexter maaaad h-h-he didn’t get to, to, to join in on the fun?” Rick dropped the box of crackers onto the floor and followed Ford who protested as he shoved his way into his room. He reached into his pants pocket and removed a joint and extended it to Ford. “Y-you wa-wanna toke?”  
“What have I told you about bringing that filth into here?!” Ford was furious, he reached for the joint and threw it across his room. This was the last straw. Normally Rick was good about not bringing any of his toxins into the apartment, but no tonight Ford could not handle it. “You need to get out of here this instant! I don’t want anything to do with you and your antics, Rick Sanchez!” He shoved past Rick and pulled his door open, pointing towards the entrance of the apartment. “OUT.”  
Rick grinned, in his drunken demeanor he wasn’t able to take Ford seriously. In all honestly, that so called ‘joint’ was just a piece of toilet paper rolled up but it wasn’t like he expected Ford to know that. “J-j-jesus, Fordie. I was j-just fuckin’ with ya.”  
“OUT, SANCHEZ. NOW.” Ford growled. Rick’s grin fell.  
“You’re a-actually mad.” He burped. “J-jeeeeeeesus. Yo-yo-you’re g-g-gonna just toss a-a-a drunk out the door?”  
“YES.” Ford pulled on Rick’s arm and dragged him through the apartment. “Even if I need to toss you out myself.”  
Rick pulled his arm out from the other’s grasp. “F-fuck you, Stanford! You you…six f-fingered freak!” He stood straight, giving himself a full head taller on Ford and shoved him, causing him to trip and fall over onto his couch. “I kn-know where the go-goddamn door is. Urrrrrrp. You ain’t th-the first to shove Rick fuckin’ Sanchez out the d-door!” He stumbled angrily to the door, heaving it open and disappeared down the hall, not before flipping off Ford and yelling something about how Stanford Pines is the best cock sucker in all of West Coast Tech.  
Ford had made it to the door just in time to see his neighbours looking confused and angry at him. He sighed and closed his door embarrassed. “Goddamnit, Sanchez…”  
Rick found himself wandering about the campus, unable to actually care what time it was or who would see him being his good and wonderfully drunk self. Ford had pissed him off and he was cold and did not feel like going back to his apartment alone. Perhaps he could visit one of his frequently visited bars and pick up some hot girl to have angry sex with. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.  
He stumbled into the bar nearly twenty minutes later and took his perch at the bar, ordering his usual and scanning the crowd. It was slim pickings for a Sunday night, or rather, Monday morning. He would settle for a 3 or 4 out of 10 on the scale he supposed. After a few sips of his drink however, he realized that there was no one he even was remotely aroused by in the bar. Ford’s face kept appearing his his face and he wanted nothing but to hit him in the face with his fist or his dick, he didn’t care which one. Rick couldn’t understand why the thought of that was even arousing to him and was wishing slightly he hadn’t pissed him off, maybe he could of finally fucked him tonight and gotten whatever this was off his chest. The lean man turned back to the bar counter and dug his fingernails into his scalp. God no, fuck Stanford Pines and his dumb fucking face.  
“Rough night?” A husky voice next to him asked.  
“HA!” Rick burped and let his hands drop onto the counter. “I’ve h-had worse.”  
“I feel that.” The voice chuckled.  
Rick glanced to his side and jumped, a bit startled. “What th-the fuck y-you doing, Sixer?” Ford? At a bar? “Y-you fuck’n f-f-followin me?”  
The man blinked. “Sixer?” It took him a moment but he seemed to connect what the man meant. He lifted his hands and spread his fingers. “I ain’t the six-fingered Pines if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”  
Rick counted and by fuck he was right. Five fingers, but a near exact replica of Stanford fucking Pines. Near because this man was more athletic, had more stubble on his strong chin, a different way of speaking and did not wear any huge nerd glasses. He had to be more drunk than he thought. Rick pinched himself to make sure that yes, he was still awake.  
“J-jesus Christ…” Rick laughed and pinched the other man to make sure he was real. “W-wow.” He burped. “Sixer’s outdone himself f-for su-sure this time. A clone. W-wowie wh-why didn’t I think about that? O-oh-oh oh oh w-w-wait I did.” He furrowed his brow at the other and took a drink.  
The clone glowered at Rick and put his hands around the mug of his beer. “I ain’t no fancy fuckin’ clone. I’m my own person, Stanley Pines. Separate from that smug brainiac I got for a twin brother.”  
“Twin brother you say?” Rick rolled his eyes. “Sure. Urrrrrrp. T-t-toooootally believe ya on that. Uh huh. S-sure. Gu-guess tha’s a lot better ex-explaination for it.”  
Stanley rolled his eyes in return. “Geez. What bit you in the ass?” He grumbled and took a drink.  
“Urrrrrrp your brother.”  
Stanley began to cough, slamming his pint on to the counter. “Ex-excuse me?!”  
“I-it’s a sayin’, yo-you idiot.” Rick finished off his drink and slid it down to the bartender. “Yo-your brother is an asshole and ki-kicked me out of his apartment t-tonight.”  
“Ah…yeah Ford ain’t one for company.”  
“Ha-hasn’t really bo-bo-bothered him any other night.” Rick leaned back and stretched. “Wh-whaaatever. Fu-fuck your brother.” He looked over the twin and smirked. “S-sides, se-seems like you got the good lookin’ genes in the pool.”  
This time it was Stanley’s turn to smirk, he leaned his arm on the counter and looked at Rick. “Yeah, tell me about it. I got the looks and he got the brain.”  
“Pffffffft ye-yeah. Brain. Ki-kickin’ out a drunk person in the m-middle of the night. Man’s a fu-fuckin’ GENIUS.”  
The two shared a laugh and maybe it was the alcohol and the shared distaste for one Ford Pines, but as the hour progressed the two of them found themselves absorbed in each other. Rick eventually leaning onto Stan as they played a game of darts, snaking his hand down and grabbing the athletic man’s butt. One thing led to another and as the two left the bar as the sun began to peek over the horizon, Rick decided that leaving the bar with a 9 instead of a 3 was an even better idea.  
“H-hey Stanley.” Rick grabbed the collar of his shirt as they approached the shorter man’s car and shoved his lips onto his. The other took a moment to return the kiss and after a few sloppy kisses, they broke for air. “Y-your place o-o-o-or mine?”


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :y I;ll edit these notes later probably? Who knows.

2.  
When Stan wakes, it takes him a few minutes to realize that he’s not in a run down motel room or his car. He allows himself sometime before slowly sitting up, holding his pounding head to get a good look around the room. There’s notebooks and paper strewn about the room, broken number 2 pencils, bottles of different kinds of alcohol, a light blue electric guitar sitting in the only somewhat clean corner of the room, clothes and other small miscellaneous items. He notices near the edge of the bed a familiar pair of boxer shorts, namely his boxer shorts. Stan double checks by looking under the blanket to clarify that, yes indeed, he was, in fact, nude in this bed.  
“Aww geez…” He groans and puts his face into his hands as he recalls the night before. How he had driven all the way to California, gone to West Coast Tech to try to find Stanford and was unsuccessful, decided to try again the next day only to go to a nearby bar and get drunk with a man who knew his brother. He remembers lots of kissing, lots of biting and pulling on the skinny man’s hair, stumbling about and making it to said man’s apartment and engaging in some heated drunken sex. Stan could only imagine how bad his neck must look because damn did it hurt.  
In another room, Stan heard the sound of a shower being turned off and waited a bit until the owner of the apartment came out clad in nothing but the bath towel tied around his hips. The bruises and bite marks on the other’s neck and shoulder had bruised in the couple of hours they’d been asleep and Stanley could assume his were probably just as bad. Stanley watched as the other walked about the room, sniffing and coughing every so often as he was gathering things.  
“H-here.” He had said finally, tossing Stan his shirt along with a water bottle.  
“Oh, uh…thanks.” Stan gripped the white tee in his hands and turned it back from being inside out and pulled it on before leaning forward to reach for his boxers to do the same. The silence was a bit uncomfortable.  
Rick (that was it! That was his name. Stan felt like an idiot forgetting his name.) finally breaks the silence by tossing a pizza box on the bed and falling in suit next to Stan. “Eat up. I-it’s cold but sh-shit’s better than anything else I got.”  
Stan mutters a thanks before the two of them finish off the last few pieces of cold pizza. There’s some idle chit chat between the two of them after they eat and Rick gets dressed and begins packing up a suitcase. Stan’s curious but he knows it isn’t his place to ask this complete stranger what he was planning on doing. Wasn’t he bragging last night about how West Coast Tech would be nothing without him and that they couldn’t afford to lose such a brilliant mind? He wandered about the small apartment while Rick held his guitar, contemplating if he wanted to keep it or not. Stan noticed a letter on the ground near Rick’s desk with West Coast Tech’s head printed at the top. He looked to see that Rick had disappeared back into his bathroom and that the guitar was sitting on top of the suitcase before reaching down for the letter.  
“Dear Mr. Rick Sanchez” it read, “This letter is to inform you of the final resolution of the disciplinary matter brought against you. As you know, West Coast Technical College does not promote violence among the student body and with the continuous complaints brought about you from other students it is within our best interest to release you from the university. We ask that you vacate the premises by the end of the month and finish paying the remainder of your tuition in a timely manner.” At the end, it was signed by the vice president of the university.   
“Sucks huh?” Rick put a hand on Stan’s shoulder, causing him to jump. He took a drink from the flask in his hand. “So do me a favor be-before ya go snoopin’ th-through other’s shit. Don’t.” Rick snatched the letter out of Stan’s hand and walked over to a small table where a pile of paper had been formed. Rick slid his shoes and leather jacket on, reaching into an inside pocket to place the flask there and take out a lighter. He flicked the lighter until a small flame appeared and begun to run the flame at the edge of the expulsion letter. “Ya might wanna get your sh-shit together, Stanley. We’re getting outta here.”  
Stan nodded, gathering what he was about to do, and quickly put on his boots and grabbed his jacket as he made a start for Rick’s door. The letter was burning, Rick set it on the top of the stack of papers and watched for a moment before throwing his book bag on his back and grabbing his suitcase and guitar.  
“You’re just gonna let the place burn?” Stan opened the door as Rick came close.  
“Fuck yeah, motherfucker!” Rick grinned as he and Stan left the apartment. “I got wh-what I need from this place. It’s holding me back anyway. So-so do me a favor and let me hitch a ride with ya out of this shitty place.”  
Stan couldn’t help but chuckle and nod. “Sure. Why not you crazy motherfucker. What’d they expel you for anyway?”  
“Everything.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kinda took some time and I’m like three chapter’s behind (than planned) so going to try to whip them out as quickly as I can.

“Harassment both verbally and physically, being drunk in class and on campus during the day, carrying this s-switchblade of mine, noise complaints, fr-free loading, I slept with one of the professors, wasn’t even one of mine.” Rick laughs. “Got a couple other offenses but never have I ever ch-cheated on an exam or plagiarized.” He nodded as a matter of factly.  
Stan just chuckled and shook his head. They had seen a few students run out of the apartment building as they pulled out of the parking lot in Stan’s beat up burgundy 1965 El Diablo Convertible. They knew it wouldn’t be long till the police and fire department showed and as much as Rick begged Stan to let them stay and watch, Stan drove off and got them off campus as quickly as possible.   
Rick had suggested driving up 1-405 south towards LA and so about twenty minutes into the drive Stan had started to make easy conversation, so why not start with Rick’s offenses?  
“O-Oh!” Rick, with an arm hanging from the passenger side window, said. “I was s-selling drugs to s-some idiot freshman too. Th-that was a riot.” A dark, hearty chuckle came from the man as he reached into his book bag and pulled out his pack of cigarettes.  
“You’re fuckin’ crazy, man.” Stan tried and unsuccessfully hid his laugh.   
“My f-folks are sure as sh-shit proud, huh?” Rick lights his cigarette and takes a drag. “W-wanna smoke?”  
“Yeah, g’head and light me up one.” Stan takes the cigarette Rick hands him and lights it, taking a light drag. “So what’s in LA? Your folks?”  
Rick just laughs. “F-fuck no! You th-th-think I’m going t-to go back to th-that shit show? Fuck. That.”  
“Then why LA?”  
“Freedom, man.” Rick pulls the lever on the passenger side chair and pushes it back some, putting his feet up on the dashboard. “Do wh-whatever the fuck I want. Research my own shit, ca-cause some trouble, drugs are ch-cheaper up there i-if you find the right guy. Pl-plenty of chicks and dudes who’ll fu-fuck a crazy dude like me. C-can make music and m-maybe restart my band. I go-got options.”  
Stan sat in silence as Rick continued to list off many reasons why LA of all places. It seemed like this guy had an idea or two about what he could do and he knew he wasn’t an idiot. The guy was a certified genius, or so he said. The air of confidence hanging around Rick was incredible, Stan couldn’t help but kind of admire him for it.  
“LA is one of th-those ‘get rich o-or die tryin’ places and I-I’m willing to get rich and n-not die.” Rick takes a long drag from his cigarette and tosses the butt out the window.  
“Well good luck to ya on that.” There was a small hint of doubt in Stan’s voice that Rick picked up on. He frowned, slightly glaring at the driver before turning onto his side and shutting his eyes.  
“I’m t-takin’ a nap.” Rick snorted. “S-someone kept me up w-with all th-their snoring and sh-shit last night.”  
Stan just rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.  
It took about an hour to reach LA with Stan only stopping once for gas. Rick had slept for the last half of the trip which wasn’t as bad as Stan had thought. He had caught himself looking over at the pale, bony man and just admiring his body and kept shaking his head to stop thinking such idiotic thoughts. He was into women for heaven’s sake! Sleeping with Rick was just a one night drunken fling. Or, you know, so he had thought. He wasn’t expecting to be driving the guy to LA when Stan had driven cross country to visit his brother. Of course, it wasn’t like Ford even knew Stan was in town or even at his college.  
It had been a couple of years since Stan had been kicked out and separated from his twin. He hadn’t tried contacting him until recently but it wasn’t as if he knew a number to call or an address to write to so he had decided to just drive and search for him. Unfortunately, Stan was a bit of a chicken shit. Just what would he have said to his brother anyway? Hey Sixer! Sorry for being such a fucking asshole! Hey do you have any cash I could borrow? Can I crash on your couch?   
He thought maybe it was a good thing he had met Rick Sanchez. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to reconnect with his brother, it wasn’t like Ford had any interest in going sailing and treasure hunting anymore. It was all just a dream that only Stan still held for the two of them.  
“H-hey, I’m hungry, l-l-let’s go find some food.”  
“Heh. Sure. But you’re buyin’.”


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more and more I write this, the more and more I feel like shipping trash and need to make sure I write this when I’m home alone.

“What do you mean you dont’ have any cash?” Stan hissed as Rick continued to shove fries in his mouth. The two of them had found a diner to sit and eat at, both ordering a burger and some fries. When the waitress, who had been patient and kind to them, left to get the check it was only then that Rick mentioned having no money.  
“I mean, I’m a br-broke college student wh-who wasn’t payin’ to live in his apartment.” He drank the rest of his soda, making a loud sucking sound through the straw. “Fr-free loading was one of my offenses, ‘member?”  
Stan put his hands in his face, groaning. “You should have fuckin said something then.”  
Rick shrugged. “What about you? D-don’t you have cash?”  
“Used most of it for gas. I think I got like a buck fifty left on me.”  
“Well,” Rick burped. “Ugh, us-use that.”  
“Pretty sure the bill is more than a dollar fuckin’ fifty.” Stan growled and started going through his pockets, trying to dig up any sort of loose change he had before a realization hit him. “Shit.”  
“Wh-what.”  
“Wallet’s in the car.” Stan scooted out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”  
‘Fucking asshole…’ Stan thought to himself as he headed out to his car. The man doesn’t care for anyone but his goddamn self. What a headache… He reached his car and started filtering about the garbage, throwing a few things in a plastic bag to toss in the near by trash can.  
After being able to throw a few things out, he managed to find his wallet and right before shutting the door to the car, Rick strolled outside and immediately pulled open the passenger side door.  
“L-let’s get outta here.”   
Stan, confused, peered into his car, seeing Rick getting comfortable, a few fries in his hand. “What? We still have to-”  
“I-it’s a dine n dash now get in the fu-fuckin’ car and let’s get th-the fuck outta here!” Rick leaned over and grabbed Stanley’s shirt, pulling him in causing Stan’s face met Rick’s leg as he fell. The skinny man laughed as a flustered Stanley pushed himself back up and into his seat. “N-now hurry the fu-fuck up, the m-m-manager’s on his way out the door.”  
Speaking of the said devil, the manager was waving and yelling as Stanley peeled out of the parking lot and all Rick could do was laugh and yell back, leaning out of the window. It was Stan’s turn to pull Rick back in the car.  
“Would you knock it off already?! Jesus fucking Christ.”  
“Oh come on like y-you’ve ne-never done that before.” Rick glowered. “Shit we’re both fl-flat broke and if-if-if you think I’m stickin’ round to work off th-that bill then you’re the one wh-who’s fu-fuckin’ crazy!”  
Stan gripped the wheel, about to talk back when they heard the sirens and saw flashing blue and red lights. Both turned to see a police car following them. “Shit, seriously?! Over a damn dine n dash?”  
“Preeeeeeeeeetty sure you ran a light, bro.” Rick chuckled and then pointed at the speedometer. “Also y-you’re speeding. Dumbass.”  
“FUCK!” Stan started to slow down.  
“W-WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Rick yelled, punching the driver’s shoulder. “Get the FUCK away from them!”  
“And WHAT, Rick?” Stan yelled back. “Get ARRESTED for EVADING THE POLICE? Hahaha cause that’s not going to be the only fuckin’ thing I’m gonna get arrested for!” At this point, Stan was steaming mad, a switch flipped in his head and he glared out the front windshield. “Oh fuck it. Hold tight.” Stan gripped the wheel and pressed on the pedal.  
Rick’s eyes widened and a grin spread across his face. “Fuckin’ A, let’s DO IT, MAN!” He laughed and bounced in his seat, yelling directions and Stan followed.  
The cop car wasn’t giving up the chase, however, gaining on them.  
“Sh-shit, Stan. Fu-fucker is right on our tail.” Rick gripped Stan’s shoulder, looking back and forth between the traffic in front of them and the car close behind them.   
Stan bit his lip, trying to find an escape route, anything would be good at this point. That’s when he saw the train tracks. “Rick. Sit back in your seat.” Stan jerked the steering wheel, avoiding a car and causing an accident in the process and started down the tracks. Rick sat back in the seat, holding his breath as they sped down the train tracks.  
Soon the lights and sirens were just a distant memory as the two made themselves comfortable in the train yard, Rick on top of Stan.  
“Th-that. W-was. FUCKING. AWESOME!” Rick moaned in between the hard kisses. The adrenaline was pumping through their veins, each other being very rough with the other. “Wh-who knew, St-Stanley Pines…evading the cops!”  
Stan laughed and made contact with Rick’s lips once again. “S’not the first time, Sanchez.”  
“Yeah ye-yeah. Yo-you-you’re going to tell me the st-story later.” Rick moved his hands down Stan’s chest to the edge of his shirt and started pulling it up. “Ri-right now, y-you’re going to fu-fuck me in your car, go-got it?”  
Stanley took a deep breath as he allowed Rick to remove his shirt and leaned back in the driver side seat. He was still unsure about all of it, thinking about how the first time was going to be the only time, but here was Rick, kissing on his neck and moving off to start undoing his belt. Stan’s face was flushed, he could feel the heat in his cheeks and decided that yeah he wanted this too.   
He nodded and smirked. “Yeah. But,” He took hold of Rick’s wrists to stop him from unzipping his jeans. “I see an open train car with our names written on it.”


End file.
